Inner Child
by Kimmychu
Summary: When a perp chase goes bad, Danny has to take care of his close friend, Flack ... except Flack isn't quite behaving like the man Danny's always known. Danny/Flack.


**Inner Child**

Fandom: CSI:NY

Author: Kimmychu

Rating: FRT

Pairing: Danny/Flack

Content Warning: Something cracktastic happens. That's all I'll say.

Spoilers: So far, only episodes 2x20, 2x24 and 3x04.

Summary: When a perp chase goes bad, Danny has to take care of his close friend, Flack ... except Flack isn't quite behaving like the man Danny's always known.

Disclaimer: Googoo gaga Danny and Flack no mine unfortunately gaga googoo.

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

Author's Notes: This was originally meant to be posted as a one-shot story. However, after taking a look at my final outline for the story, I figured, hey, I think I can post this in three installments instead so people can have a go at reading some of it first instead of waiting for the whole thing. This is the first of three parts.

The cracktastic plot in the story was suggested to me by a regular visitor to my CSI:NY LJ; she told me it was a common fanfic crack plot and hoped I would tackle it one day for Danny/Flack. I won't say anything more about it other than I hope it'll give you a laugh or two and bring a smile to your face.

Thank you as always for your reviews! I appreciate them.

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

Danny had no way of explaining this.

"Where's mama?" the person whose face was so familiar to him said in an atypically high-pitched voice.

"She's - she's on, _uh_, on holiday. She asked me to take care of you until she gets back, okay?"

"Hmmm … okay. I guess."

Danny had no way of clarifying what had occurred. There was no scientific basis for it. He knew there wasn't one because he'd never learned of anything remotely close to _this_ back in college or in any science or medical journal. There was no logical explanation.

None. Zero. Zip.

Yet, here it was, staring him straight in the face with those gigantic blue eyes, sitting next to him in the passenger seat of the car belonging to the best friend he's ever known.

The best friend who happened to be next to him right now, staring at him and asking all manners of questions ranging from why Danny's short hair was standing as if he got electrocuted to why mama and papa weren't around to pick him up to why the sky was blue to why a man would wear girly bracelets. The best friend who, in any other situation, would never have asked Danny any of these questions. At least, not without a teasing smirk and a snarky comment on its heels.

"They're _girly _bracelets. They'll give you _cooties_," the six-foot-two tall person beside him said, handsome face contorted into a humorous expression of pure disgust. "_Giiiiirl_ cooties." Bracelets was pronounced _brasahlets_.

Danny wanted to laugh his head off and weep at the same time.

It was crazy. Plain, good old _what the ten levels of hell was going on here _kind of crazy.

This morning, the perp chase had been a regular one, like every other chase he and Flack ran together. They didn't even climb down buildings like Spiderman like the time they had to catch that Shane Casey kid. They just dashed down the forever crowded Mulberry street in Little Italy, racing after a suspect who looked a lot like a bald garden gnome stuffed into a Chesterfield coat two sizes too small. It was amazing how fast the guy could run on such stubby legs.

Danny was mere steps behind Flack. They were only about eight to nine feet away from the perp throughout the surprisingly drawn out pursuit. Then Flack burst into an even swifter sprint and managed to seize the perp's coat collar.

And then, out of nowhere, a flower pot fell directly on top of Flack's head.

Flack toppled over like a felled oak tree, landing face down on the sidewalk with a pile of dark brown soil atop his thick-skulled head. Ceramic fragments of what used to be the flower pot were strewn everywhere. A bright and yellow sunflower was sticking out of the soil on Flack's head, as if to exclaim, "Hi!" to the world.

Danny thought his friend had died right then and there.

The doctor in the hospital where Flack was treated later for the head injury had to assure him his heart was in sound shape and still very much within the safety of his ribs in his chest. Thing was, the doctor couldn't convince him one bit of the final diagnosis of Flack's condition.

"You're _kiddin'_ me, right?" Danny had mumbled, gaping at the doctor who had white, frizzy hair physics genius Albert Einstein would have been proud to possess. "That _can't_ be possible."

"I'm afraid it's true, Detective Messer," Dr. Kinder said in a gruff, grandpa-like tone. "The hard knock to his head didn't just bruise his head, it's caused him to suffer a sort of regression."

"_Regression?_"

"Yes." Dr. Kinder snuffled like a whiskered walrus. "Detective Flack believes he's only five years old."

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

"I'm hungry," Flack said, dark pink lips puckered into a very obvious pout. Combined with those blue eyes opening so wide and glossy, Flack really did appear child-like.

Needless to say, it was rather difficult for Danny to think of the lanky, second-grade homicide detective, his chummy friend of over six years, as a toddler. Flack was, at the moment, dressed in one of his usual formal suits, an all-black one with a white dress shirt and a multi-colored, striped tie. Flack's shoes and dark grey socks were on the floor near the black leather couch the man was sprawled on.

Flack was a whole head taller than he was. Flack also had bigger hands than his. _Much_ bigger hands. All Flack had to do to knock him flat on the floor right this minute was swing one fist at his face, whether for fun or out of childish frustration.

The question was, would a five-year-old Flack in a gangly, sinewy body in its thirties do something like that?

What _would_ a six-foot-two Flack who believed he was a little child do?

"I'm _huuuuuungry_," Flack whined a second time.

Danny scratched absent-mindedly at his bristly jaw and bit his lower lip in weighty contemplation. Flack's belly was like a black hole. Even black holes would call it a monstrous, devouring thing and flee from it at the speed of light-years. Flack could eat an entire large pizza by himself after a long, arduous day of work. Danny should know; he saw it with his own eyes just weeks after they met each other for the first time, at what was their favorite pizza parlor these days.

The Flack he knew was capable of eating anything.

What was _this_ Flack capable of eating?

"What do ya wanna eat?" Danny asked after some time.

"_Hmmmmm_." Flack, with a dark red pillow on his chest and his arms and legs akimbo, answered in great gusto, "Spaghetti-Os!"

"Spaghetti-Os." Danny scratched his chin. "_Spaghetti-Os_, he says."

Danny couldn't stop himself from smiling softly at Flack who was now curling up on his side, hugging the pillow Danny had taken off of Flack's bed a couple of minutes after they entered Flack's apartment. Flack wanted something to cuddle and had requested it via something along the lines of, "Where's teddy? I wanna huggie."

Danny would be a freaking liar if he claimed hearing Flack say the words _teddy_ and _huggie_ didn't do something unusual to the left side of his chest.

He was glad Flack was satisfied just hugging a pillow. He wouldn't have a damn clue what to do had Flack demanded for his teddy bear and nothing else. What, go out and buy a new one? Tow Flack in his confused mental state to a congested shopping mall? To the _toys section?_

Nuh _uh_.

"Do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, _doh!_"

Flack was singing faintly, eyes half-closed, nibbling on the hem of the pillow case from time to time.

"Do, ti, la, so, fa - _fa_, mi, re, doh!"

Danny's smile widened. It was strange but also kind of touching to see his usually tough, no-bullshit, masculine friend so … innocent and sweet. Danny felt as if he was intruding into something private and he was unworthy of witnessing it. Nonetheless, he was very reluctant to leave.

He couldn't leave anyway. The doctor's stipulation for Flack's discharge from the hospital was that someone would be around to observe Flack at all times until the temporary regression reversed itself.

Danny's smile faltered for a moment.

But what if the regression _didn't_ undo itself? What if Flack was stuck like this?

For _life?_

"Can I have some spaghetti-Os?" Flack said. Have was enunciated as _haf_. "Mama doesn't let me eat it unless it's a special occa-occash-occasho …"

Danny's smile returned in full force. "Occasion."

Flack bounced like a spring into an upright position, tapping his bare feet together in a hyperactive rhythm. "Yeah, occasion." The word was pronounced _occashoan_.

Danny chuckled, face crinkled in affection. He ambled over to the couch and ruffled Flack's tousled, dark hair at the sides of Flack's head, making very sure to avoid the bruised area on top. It was peculiar Flack hadn't complained about any pain. A flower pot landing on the head (even one as hard as Flack's) was no funny business. Could it be the regression was blocking Flack's awareness of the injury?

"Rub-ba-dub-dub," Flack mumbled.

Danny chuckled a second time, at Flack's non-sequitur and at the evident delight on Flack's face. Flack truly enjoyed having his head rubbed. Well, Flack who was five years old, to be more precise. Who knew whether the Flack he was familiar with enjoyed them too.

A voice in Danny's mind whispered, _you'd like to know that, wouldn't you?_

Danny told it to shut up. Bad enough he had to be reminded of what he could only have in his dreams, right here and now, when that very person might never come back.

Flack's big, ingenuous eyes gazed up at Danny.

"Spaghetti-Os for dinner?"

"Yeah," Danny replied gently. "Let's go look for some in the kitchen, a'right?"

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

Flack must have been a very polite diner even as a kid. Despite all the cans of spaghetti-Os Flack ate (five large ones!), there was hardly a drop of tomato sauce on his face or his clothes. Maybe it had something to do with Flack constantly licking his lips and talking so much in that high-pitched voice while waving around a very clean stainless steel spoon like a mad conductor.

"Mama says eatin' too much spaghetti makes you _fat_, she says bein' fat is no good 'cause ya can't _run_ properly which means ya can't play games with other kids and if you're fat you're gonna have health problems too and - and Jam said fat kids get bullied a lot at school and only _mean_ people bully other people but papa will catch them 'cause that's what he does and he's _really_ good at it 'cause mama said so …"

It was so, _so_ difficult for Danny to maintain a straight face. The Flack he knew, the grown up Flack, never chattered on like this. _Ever_. Whenever they were together, be it for investigating a case or for a meal at one of their preferred hang outs or for a game of hoops, _he_ was always the one who yakked about everything and Flack would listen attentively and gaze at him as if enraptured by his words.

_Yeah_, the same voice in Danny's head muttered, _you wish_.

Danny told it to shut up. Again.

" … Jam said he and Daf were gonna tell mama and papa if I didn't eat my veggies but I don't _like_ veggies, I like _corn beef_, especially _mama's_ corn beef, she makes the yummiest corn beef in the world and Jam and Daf like it too 'cause they always try to steal my corn beef when papa isn't lookin' but mama always catches them and scolds them and then she gives me extra corn beef so sometimes I tell mama Jam and Daf tried to eat my corn beef so I get more …"

Danny couldn't stop a brief chortle from escaping his lips. Jam and Daf must be Flack's older brothers, James and David. Flack had spoken about them just _thrice_ in all six years of their friendship. Wow, now that Danny thought about it, Flack really _didn't_ talk much. Not about his family anyhow.

Flack immediately noticed his muffled laugh.

"It's _true! _They like to steal my corn beef and it's _not_ fair 'cause they got their own and mama says I gotta eat lotsa meat for protein and grow up so I can be like papa!"

"I believe you, I believe you," Danny said placatingly between louder chuckles, leaning forward, tilting his head down to look at his empty bowl that once contained piping hot spaghetti-Os straight out of the microwave. His opinion was it wasn't bad at all. Could have used some bacon bits and maybe some spices though.

"Sometimes mama tells Jam and Daf to take care of me while she and papa go out but when they go out, Jam and Daf go out too and I tell them they shouldn't do it 'cause mama says they have to take care of me but they don't care and yell at me and leave anyway."

Danny glanced at Flack who sat alongside him at the kitchen table. _Uh_ oh, that was definitely a forlorn expression on Flack's visage. Danny had to blink hard. Guess there were certain habits Flack never discarded because once in a while, the adult Flack would stick out his lower lip just like that and display those sad puppy eyes just like that too.

"Do yer brothers leave you alone in the house?" Danny asked in a kind tone, angling his head this way and that to make eye contact with Flack. "Hm? What do ya do when they go out?"

Flack's face lit up. "I read!"

Danny's teeth flashed in a grin. He was pleased to see Flack cheerful once more.

"Yeah? What kinda books do you read, Donnie?"

At the hospital, Danny had called Flack by his full first name, Donald, and gotten an earful from the guy who insisted he _had _to be called Donnie. Donald sounded _old_, Flack had said with that protruding pout and arms crossed over his chest, so he had to be called _Donnie!_

So Donnie it was.

"What kinda books do ya read?" Danny asked again.

"Mama bought me this book by Chas Deekens."

One of Danny's eyebrows shot up. _Chas Deekens?_

"It's about a boy called Oliva Twees who had no parents and he had to work every day for no money and there were other kids who worked like him and he was always hungry and sad and lonely 'cause nobody loved him."

"Ah, you mean _Charles Dickens_," Danny said. "So you're readin' Oliver Twist?"

"That's what I said," Flack answered, sticking out his lower lip yet again. "Chas Deekens and Oliva Twees!"

Danny had to suck in his lips to suppress the amused laughter threatening to burst from his mouth. If Flack kept talking in that high-pitched voice and pronounced so many words in such an endearing fashion, he was going to keel over before the night was over.

"I don't get it," Flack said after a while. His head was bowed.

Danny patted Flack's closest hand on the table between their empty bowls. "Don't get what?"

The glum expression had returned to Flack's visage.

"Oliva Twees never did anythin' bad to anybody." Flack raised his head and gazed at Danny with lowered brows and eyes wide in puzzlement. "Why do bad things happen to good people, Danny?" Danny was enunciated _Dahnee_.

Danny was surprised by the question. Such a question, he thought as he stared at Flack's very full-grown face, coming from the mind of a five-year-old child. Flack hadn't merely been a polite child, he was also a smart and intelligent one who contemplated on matters other kids his age normally wouldn't have.

Danny made a mental note to punch the next person who gossiped that Flack was an ignoramus because he never went to college.

"I dunno, Donnie. I'm still findin' the answer to that myself."

"Hmmm."

A few minutes of meditative silence passed, broken only by Flack drumming all ten fingers on the table top.

Then Flack's fingers abruptly went immobile. The emotion in Flack's eyes changed, brightened.

"But there's an answer?" Flack asked.

Danny sent his friend a benevolent smile. "I'd like to think so."

Without thinking, Danny placed his hand on Flack's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was a strong squeeze, the kind he typically gave the other man whenever the moment felt appropriate, the kind he'd give to an adult man with adult shoulders. Broad, sturdy shoulders.

But if Flack believed himself to be a mere child and thought and spoke like one, would the guy also _feel_ each and every sensation like a mere child?

Danny hastily withdrew his hand, concerned he might have hurt Flack by accident. He tensed, anticipating a wince to flash across that handsome face. Instead, Flack smiled at him, laugh lines materializing at the sides of those animated blue eyes in the form of crow's feet.

Danny couldn't describe the twinge he felt in his chest upon seeing that smile. It was the smile he'd become very fond of, that soft smile he hoped was his alone.

It was the same smile Flack had given him the night he received a call from the hospital, the night Louie's doctor informed him his brother had miraculously awakened from an eight-month long coma and asked about Danny and if he was safe. They were in the living area of his apartment, watching television while lounging on his couch. He couldn't remember what they were watching. Maybe it was a baseball game. Or some random movie.

What he did remember was leaping off the couch, pacing here and there in vast elation, half-listening to the doctor tell him Louie's chances for a full recovery had improved considerably, half-gazing at Flack who had stood up and was watching him with inquisitive eyes. When he imparted the good news to Flack, he was immediately enveloped in a bear hug and he had embraced the other man just as tight, laughing and rambling about phoning his parents and the shortest way to the hospital and whether he should go by train or car.

It had taken him a couple of minutes to realize why Flack and everything else appeared to him as fuzzy blobs of color.

And even then, even with the moisture in his eyes, he saw Flack's tender smile clear as the sun.

"It's okay, Danny. I'll drive you to the hospital."

Flack's large hand enclosed his and the simple touch had grounded him, brought him back from the brink of a minor emotional meltdown, from the shock of knowing, _finally_, that Louie was going to be alright. That he still had a chance to mend broken bridges and atone for wasted years and unspoken words of forgiveness and love.

The same hand now rested on his on the smooth surface of the kitchen table, drawing him back from the past and into the present.

"You're nice," Flack murmured, his eyes warm and guileless. "I like you."

Danny's breath caught in his throat. He had yearned to hear Flack say the latter three words for so long. He just never thought it would be under such bizarre circumstances.

And if Flack wasn't himself … it wasn't a true confession, was it?

Danny's lips arched up in a small smile anyway.

"Well, guess what?"

Flack angled his head, all innocent curiosity. "What?"

"I like you too."

Their quiet laughter filled the air of the kitchen for some time.

**( Oooo …... oooO )**

Danny was, once again, at a loss for words.

The black-and-white photograph he gripped with both hands seemed to burn his fingertips. It was a regular-sized photo, featuring a three-quarter side view of a clean-shaven man's face. The man's hair was extremely short, so short Danny could see the scalp and the roundness of the skull. The man's heavy-lidded eyes were somewhat squinted, as if there was a stark light shining into them, and there was a curl to the ends of the guy's lips that were neither thin or full.

Danny blinked, then held the picture closer to his face, studying the man's very recognizable facial features.

He didn't get it. He just didn't _get_ it.

Why was Flack keeping a photograph of _him?_

The bigger question was, why was Flack keeping it inside one of the drawers of the cupboard in his _bedroom?_

Danny's eyes narrowed in scrutiny at it. _Hmm_. The last time he cut his hair that short had been years ago, at least two. Yeah, he was recalling now, he had been bored of his spiky hairdo and had most of it sheared off. He'd regretted it after it was done, but something changed his mind afterwards and caused his feelings of disappointment to vanish into thin air.

"_Ya look like a cute cue ball. I like it, Messer."_

Danny smiled to himself. Oh, that's right, Flack had flattered him about it. (He was a gracious man. He was willing to close an eye to the cue ball part. Without cue balls, there would be no pool and he and Flack loved playing pool together so he'd taken being called a cue ball as a compliment too.)

He couldn't understand why Flack had liked that particular haircut though. Personally, he didn't think much of it. In the first couple of days after getting it done, he'd noted how the lack of hair on his head threw his prominent nose into a more obvious projection. His very high forehead had become much more conspicuous. And in the photo he was staring at right now, he wasn't even wearing any spectacles. He always appeared squinch-eyed without them.

What the heck did Flack see in this portrait of him anyway?

Danny frowned in bemusement. The photograph was an awful one. Maybe Flack was keeping it for … blackmail purposes or something. Yeah, that made sense. Sort of. He wasn't sure why Flack would ever want to blackmail him -

"Scrubby scrub scrub!"

Danny lifted his head and glanced in the direction of the bathroom connected to the bedroom. Its door was partially open, which was why he could hear Flack talking to himself as the guy bathed in the tub.

"Donnie?" Danny, who was kneeling on the bedroom floor in front of Flack's closet, leaned back a bit to better look through the gap in the bathroom door and asked, "Are you okay in there? Do you want me to -"

"I'm okay! I can bathe myself!" Bathe was pronounced _baf_.

"A'right, but ya call me when you're done, 'kay?"

"Okay!"

There was a loud splash. An instant later, Flack's delighted laughter floated to Danny's ears.

Danny chuckled. Ah, Flack must be playing with the huge yellow rubber ducky again. He really, really had to ask Flack some time why Flack even owned one, much less one so huge it could sit on both palms of his hands.

That is, if the regression reversed and Flack returned to his old self.

Danny gazed at the photograph of himself one last time before placing it back between neatly folded dress shirts that Danny preferred to label as eclectic in style. He really, _really_ had to ask Flack some time why the guy was keeping a picture of him inside the bedroom cupboard too. The reason that popped into his head was too good to be true.

Danny pushed the drawer shut and opened the one beneath it, the bottom and last one. He'd checked the other drawers, all five of them, and he didn't find any pajamas in them. Maybe Flack slept in a plain t-shirt and boxers. Maybe Flack slept in boxers and nothing else.

Maybe Flack slept in nothing, period.

The sudden vision of Flack doing such a thing made Danny's face heat up. It sure as hell didn't help him that he knew how Flack appeared buck naked now.

A short while after dinner, they were ambling out of the kitchen when Flack abruptly complained his clothes felt itchy, scratching at that long neck and tugging at that striped tie around aforementioned neck and the collar of a rumpled dress shirt. Danny had grinned at Flack, saying something about a change of clothes or a bath or shower to take the itchiness away.

Danny had turned his head away for three seconds at most. _Three_.

Then he'd glanced back at Flack, and almost screamed at the top of his lungs and leapt out of his boots.

Flack wasn't just already nude, he was also bent over, bare ass thrust out as the guy untangled his pants and boxers from around his ankles.

It was Danny's secret fantasy come alive … except this Flack wasn't quite the Flack he knew, and the situation definitely wasn't _quite_ how he expected his fantasy to transpire. Not with Flack hopping on one spot like an energetic rabbit, declaring in that high-pitched voice, "Bath! _Bath!_"

To his credit, Danny didn't look at Flack's groin the whole time he led Flack from the living room to the bathroom. Nope. Not even once. Cross his heart and hope to die.

"_Daaaaanny_."

Danny blinked. He stared at the contents of the open drawer in front of him. He blinked a few more times, mainly to get rid of the image of Flack's rounded buttocks from his contemplation.

What was he supposed to be searching for, again?

"_Daaaaaaaaaaaaaanny_," Flack called out from inside the bathroom. "I'm feelin' kinda cold."

Danny's eyes fell upon what looked like a set of black satin pajamas in the right side of the drawer.

Oh, right. _Pajamas! _

"Okay, Donnie, I got your PJs! Hold on a sec," Danny answered in an apologetic tone. He took out the black pajamas, unfurling them, marveling at the silken, high-quality cloth. Wow, Flack not only had a penchant for tailored, stylish suits, he had a thing for luxury night clothes as well.

His lips arched up in an amused smile.

Was this why Flack had such smooth, pale skin?

"_Daaaaanny_, I'm comin' out -"

Whatever daydream Danny was having of Flack's skin went poof.

"No, Donnie, wait! I'm comin', I'm comin'!"

He scrambled to his feet and darted to the bathroom door, slinging Flack's pajamas over his forearm. He stood facing the door and clutched the doorknob, holding the door in place. He wasn't ready to see Flack in the buff again. Not yet. He didn't think his heart could take any more today.

"Donnie?" he asked.

There was a sloshing sound, like someone climbing out of a half-filled bath tub. Then there was the sound of … stomping. Ahh, Flack was probably wiping the soles of his feet on the bath mat next to the bath tub. Then, Danny heard the sounds of a large cloth being flapped.

"I'm dryin' myself," Flack replied behind the bathroom door.

Danny smiled to himself. "You need any help in there?"

"No! I can do it myself!"

Danny's shoulders trembled in silent mirth. So, Flack was _born_ with an independent streak. It didn't surprise him Flack would want to do everything himself from such an early age. He couldn't visualize Flack depending on anyone except himself. Flack was simply too steadfast and self-sufficient to ever have to rely on someone else. Even when Flack had been critically injured by that bomb blast years ago, the homicide detective was insistent on doing as many tasks as he could by himself as soon as he was able. That was how Flack recovered so swiftly. He never wallowed in self-pity or in his pain. He just bounced back in less than two months like he was Superman or something.

Perhaps Flack _was_ Superman.

"I put on my underwear now."

"Okay," Danny said. He had picked out a random pair of boxers from the first drawer of the bedroom cupboard earlier and handed it to Flack before giving Flack privacy to bathe.

There were some rustling noises. Then Flack said, "'Kay, I'm ready."

Danny took a deep breath. He hoped Flack wasn't playing any prank on him because, seriously, he could _not_ handle seeing a nude Flack again without something in his chest exploding.

Much less, a _wet_, nude Flack.

Danny slowly opened the bathroom door. True to his word, Flack was very dry and wore a pair of boxers. White boxers with giant red hearts on it.

"See? Told ya I can put on clothes properly!" Flack asserted, arms folded over a broad, fuzzy chest and that lower lip jutting out in a bold pout.

Danny had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands just to sustain a deadpan expression.

"Okay, _okay_, ya got me. I was wrong and you were right," Danny replied.

Flack's response was to merely raise his arms towards Danny and say, "Pajamas!"

Danny caught on quick.

Dressing Flack in the black satin pajamas was a memorable endeavor. Getting the pants on was fine. It was buttoning up the long-sleeved shirt that had Danny in stitches. Flack wouldn't let him assist and smacked away his hands every time he attempted to do so. Moreover, Flack spent ages with each button, holding the button and its matching buttonhole inches away from his face and staring at them to the point of being cross-eyed.

It was too much.

"C'mon," Danny said after he finally stopped cackling. "Lemme _help_ ya, a'right? The faster ya dress up, the faster ya can do other stuff."

Flack perked up, blue eyes wide in eagerness. "Like watch TV?"

Danny grabbed the opportunity to shift Flack's loose hands away and fasten the remaining buttons. "Sure, if ya want to."

A minute or two afterward, Danny ushered Flack into the bedroom, sat Flack down on the side of the bed and examined the top of Flack's head where that flower pot had struck. He winced and hissed softly at the sight of the contusion underneath Flack's thick, dark hair. _Ouch_, it looked painful. It really was odd that Flack had yet to grumble about any headache or what not, particularly after washing his hair during the bath. Dr. Kinder was going to hear from him soon if Flack's condition stayed the same tomorrow.

He sighed, gently patted one of Flack's cheeks, then returned to the bathroom to unplug the bath tub and drain the soapy water in it. Flack had hung his used towel on the railing attached to the shower door, and seeing that brought a smile to Danny's face. Geez, Flack had been a perfect kid. Was there anything wayward at all about Flack when the man was a child?

"What time is it?" Flack asked.

Danny strode out of the bathroom to stand beside Flack at the bed, glancing down at the watch on his right wrist.

"'Bout eight o'clock."

"Can I sleep later? Please?"

Flack was employing those enormous puppy eyes again, those weapons of mass persuasion.

Danny was powerless against them.

"Sure. But _just _for tonight, okay?"

"Okay." Flack paused, then added, "Can I have some more Spaghetti-Os?"

Danny was powerless against that high-pitched voice too.

"Sure, buddy. Anythin' ya want. Anythin'."

If Danny hadn't placed his hand on Flack's shoulder, he would have slumped to his knees right there and then on the bedroom floor under the radiance of Flack's ear-to-ear grin.


End file.
